


The Great Escape

by fanficworm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean, Dean-Centric, Heterosexual Sam Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Multi, Pansexual Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6652354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficworm/pseuds/fanficworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by his brother and a pizza delivery girl, Dean Winchester escapes his father's abusive clutches and hits the road with nothing but the clothes he is wearing. After hitchhiking for days, he finds his rescuer in successful Castiel Novak, who shows him a kind of life he's never even dreamed of. </p><p>If you want: Gabriel owning a gay bar, Stanford!Sam, Dean discovering his sexuality, and Charlie, Cas and Dean being bros, then you should probably check out this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prequel

Dean lay on his bed, stretched out, waiting attentively. From his bed he could just see the road in front of the hostel. In the car park outside, an engine suddenly roared into life, and soon enough, with a crunch of gravel, the Chevy Impala pulled out onto the main road and roared off. 

Seeing this, Dean relaxed into his mattress. Curling up, he hugged his pillow tightly and buried his head in it. His breathing, carefully controlled for hours before, started to hitch and shake. He tried to steady it, but that made such pathetic sounds that he stopped. Sam had only been gone twenty-two hours, but already the loss was aching inside him, feeling like his organs were being eaten away. 

And under all that loss, there was another emotion. A childlike current of fear burnt in his head and heart and hands. John would be back – eventually, after having been thrown out of the last pub – and he’d come back to punish Dean for his failures. The bruises from last night were still terribly visible – the black eye, the cut lip, the green and purple blossoming on his cheeks. 

There was a knock on the door. 

‘Pizza delivery for Room 22.’

Dean wiped the worst of the tears from his eyes and got up. He pulled the door open slightly and held out some money. Taking hold of one corner of the box, he realised he had no hope of getting it through the tiny crack he had opened. Reluctantly, he pulled the door entirely open, baring his battered face. 

‘Oh my god,’ whispered the delivery girl. ‘What happened to you?’ 

‘I have a bad habit of getting into fights,’ Dean lied. 

‘Did you report it? God, to think someone did that to you. They should be behind bars!’ She exclaimed. 

‘I’m sure they will be, one day,’ Dean replied. ‘Thanks for the pizza.’ He held out another couple of dollars. ‘And here’s a tip. For caring.’ 

‘Any decent person would!’ She replied. 

‘You’d be surprised how few do.’ Dean said. He smiled and shut the door, but the girl’s words ran around his mind. God, to think someone did that to you. She’d looked so shocked. Wasn’t she ever punished as a kid? They should be behind bars! 

He lent over the sink and looked into the mirror to inspect his bruises. Sam could see it, his reflection said. Sam left, and he tried to take you too. Don’t you remember? 

‘Come with me, Dean,’ Sam had said. 

‘And leave Dad?’ He’d replied, shocked. 

‘He doesn’t deserve us anymore,’ Sam stated.

‘How can you say that?’ Dean had said, angrily. ‘He’s family.’ 

‘Family shouldn’t scare you,’ Sam answered angrily. ‘Family shouldn’t force you to hide. For God’s sake Dean, lie to me, to Dad, but please stop lying to yourself.’ 

‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ snapped Dean. 

‘Come with me, please, Dean. I don’t want to leave you here.’ Sam had said, eyes glistening. 

Suddenly, Dean stuck his head back out of his hotel room. ‘Hey,’ he shouted at the girl as she walked away. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Sure,’ she said curiously, walking back. 

‘How badly beat up do I look?’ 

‘You look like you could sue for assault, mate,’ she replied. 

‘Is it normal for a parent to do this to their kid?’

Her eyes popped. ‘What the…’

‘Say, if the kid was something really bad, I mean, had done something really bad?’ Dean babbled.

‘Nothing,’ she said quietly, ‘nothing justifies this.’ Her hand shook as she indicated his face. She suddenly extricated a notepad and pen from her pocket. ‘Look, here’s a helpline number. Of course, you should call the police if you’re in danger, but this is for talking. In case you don’t have anyone. To talk to,’ she said quickly. 

‘Thanks,’ Dean said. 

‘And tell your parent this from me,’ she said angrily. ‘Tell them to go f**k themselves.’ 

Dean tried to imagine saying this to John, but failed. 

‘Have a good night,’ he said, closing the door. 

‘You too,’ said the girl. ‘And stay safe.’ 

Dean picked up his phone and dialled the helpline. The receiver had just begun to talk when John Winchester slammed through the door. Dean dropped the phone and paper. 

‘There you are, boy,’ John slurred. ‘And what’s this?’ He caught sight of the paper on the floor. ‘A helpline?’ He roared. ‘Who’ve you been talking to?’ 

‘Just… just the pizza guy.’ Dean stammered. 

‘Kids these days,’ John roared. ‘Shy away from a little discipline. I hoped you were stronger, Dean.’ 

He aimed a blow at Dean’s head. 

Later, Dean always said that he thought it was this punch that shook all the thoughts of the last few weeks into order.

He aimed another punch at Dean’s jaw, but Dean blocked it. 

‘How dare you!’ John raged. 

Dean raced for the door, but John grabbed him by the neck of his shirt. Dean elbowed wildly behind himself, and John released his shirt with a grunt of pain. 

Without looking back, Dean ran into the night.


	2. Castiel No. 5

Dean jogged for hours over open country, too afraid of John to go near roads. Eventually though, exhausted, he began to hitchhike. He wanted desperately to get to Stanford, but he couldn’t go anywhere near Sam with John on his trail, so he went wherever the people who gave him lifts were going, as long as it was far away.

By the next morning, hunger forced him to shoplift. Creeping through the aisles of a small supermarket, he stuffed some muesli bars, tinned food, and the biggest bag he could find up his jumper. He was sliding some chocolate into his pockets when he came face to face with a worker. For a second, he held his breath. But the woman didn’t stop him. She just looked at his battered face and shrugged, walking past him like she hadn’t seen a thing. 

Dean thought about that all day. It helped to keep his mind off worrying about where he was going to sleep. 

Not that he managed to sleep when he kept seeing his father around every corner, and the Impala parked in every street. Or when he kept seeing Sam in the way someone had laughed, or a university student, or a stranger’s way of walking. 

All he felt was deprivation – of food, sleep, shelter, safety, Sam… 

On the third day, he was hitchhiking in the middle of no-where, and a big yellow car pulled up. 

‘Don’t you want to know where I’m going?’ The driver asked as Dean got in. 

‘Is it West?’ Dean asked.

‘Yes.’

‘That’s good enough for me.’ He looked at the driver carefully – he had a shock of brown hair and a pointy nose. Good-looking bloke. Dean couldn’t exactly put his finger on what was so attractive, but his whole… aesthetic?... was irresistibly pleasant. 

‘Castiel.’ The driver said. 

‘Dean.’ Dean replied. 

‘So Dean, where have you come from?’ Castiel asked. 

‘I’m running away.’ Dean answered. The car looked expensive, and there was a decorated sort of cross dangling from the top of the windscreen. The interior smelt like some high-end perfume. 

Castiel frowned. ‘Bit old for stunts like that, aren’t you?’ 

‘Young enough to get the s**t beaten out of me.’ Dean snapped. 

‘I didn’t mean to be insensitive,’ Castiel replied. Awkward silence reigned for a minute or so. 

‘Where are you from?’ Dean asked. 

‘Originally, France. The Novak estate. Currently – New York City.’ 

‘Sounds fancy,’ Dean said. 

‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Castiel replied. 

‘What do you do in New York?’ 

‘I work in costume and fashion design. Some modelling on the side.’ 

‘My dad always said blokes who work in fashion are sissies.’ 

‘Your father has clearly never worked in the industry,’ Castiel replied in a clipped tone.

‘Get a lot of money in fashion design?’ Dean asked quickly. 

‘Not yet,’ Castiel replied. ‘I’m just starting out, with some help from my brother. But it can be an extremely lucrative business with some luck and dedication.’ 

‘So, like a joint business?’ 

‘Oh no,’ Castiel almost laughed. ‘Gabriel runs a nightclub. He hires me for some design elements, and in return I get publicity.’

‘Which nightclub?’ 

‘Rainbow.’

Rainbow. The most famous equal opportunity nightclub in New York City. Run by Gabriel Novak – or Gabe di Angelo, as he was more commonly known. Dean had actually been in New York for the opening seven years ago, during New York Pride. John had thrown a beer at the TV as the news covered the story, raging about how ‘the homos were taking over America’. 

‘So you’re Cas Coquet? Creator of the Bored Byron line?’ 

‘I am. I wouldn’t have picked you for the type of man who could identify me from my lingerie.’

Dean could not think of a satisfactory reply to this. 

‘Uh… is it true? That you’re gay, I mean? If you don’t mind me asking,’ Dean asked hesitantly. 

‘I see you’ve read the papers. No, it’s not true,’ Cas replied. ‘Why, are you questioning?’ Cas turned his eyes from the road to look at Dean for a second. Dean took the time to memorise his eye colour. It was a lovely shade of grey blue, but pale… he couldn’t describe it in any way that did it justice. 

‘No, no. Not me.’ Dean said.

‘What about you, Dean? What do you do?’ Cas asked.

‘Not much,’ replied Dean. ‘We’re always moving. After my mum died Dad dedicated himself to finding her killer.’ 

‘And dedicated you as well?’

‘Me and Sam, yeah.’

‘Your brother’s still with him?’ Cas asked concernedly.

‘Nah,’ Dean laughed. ‘Sammy was smart. He got out before I did. He wanted me to come with him, but…,’ he stopped. ‘Why am I telling you this, anyway? I never talk about this.’

‘From what you’ve said, you’ve done many things recently that you’ve never done before,’ Cas replied. 

‘That’s rather poetic,’ Dean smiled. They sat in silence for a while, watching the road. 

‘Do you like music?’ Cas asked suddenly. ‘Pick something from my iPod.’

Dean flicked through the songs. There was an eclectic mix, ranging from classical symphonies to modern instrumentals. 

Dean eventually decided on a piano piece called ‘River Flows in You’. As the music washed over him, Dean yawned. 

‘I’m heading for New York,’ Cas said gently. ‘It’s going to be a long ride, so you can afford to sleep for a while. You look tired.’ 

Dean mumbled some sort of thanks and closed his eyes.

 

Dean woke up, but didn’t open his eyes. Something modern was playing, and Cas was singing quietly along to it in his low voice. Dean sighed, breathing in the rosy smell of Cas’ car. Suddenly, he felt a hand gently shake his shoulder. 

‘Dean,’ Cas said. ‘We’re stopping to get something to eat. Thought you might want lunch.’ Dean pretended to wake from a deep sleep. 

‘Oh, uh,’ he began. ‘I don’t have any cash. I can’t get anything.’ He made to go back to sleep, but Cas tugged on his shirt. 

‘This is on me, Dean,’ he said. ‘No – I insist,’ he continued, cutting off Dean’s polite refusal. ‘You’ve been through a few terrible days, and this is just repayment – for being such a pleasant travel companion.’ 

‘No-one’s ever called me ‘pleasant’ before,’ Dean said, going for a light-hearted tone. 

‘Really?’ Cas said, genuinely surprised. 

Dean tried to open the door, but the handle didn’t work. Cas leant over and pushed a button, explaining about the automatic locking system. Dean realised that the rosy perfume wasn’t the car – it was Cas. It was almost intoxicating up close. 

‘This place is classier than I usually go for,’ Dean commented as Cas lead him into the bar. 

‘But maybe I should go for it more often,’ he winked at a waitress. She giggled and blushed. Cas bristled. 

‘Let’s find a table,’ he said irritably, pulled Dean towards an empty table. His eyes narrowed when the same waitress walked over to take their order. 

‘I’ll have whatever the chef recommends, please,’ Cas growled. 

‘Same here,’ Dean smiled. ‘Whatever you’ve got, I’m sure I’ll like it.’ 

‘I’ll do my best to impress, sir,’ the waitress replied, smirking. He looked over to find Cas was looking daggers at the waitress as she walked away. 

‘Got something against flirting, Cas?’ he laughed. 

‘Not in the slightest,’ Cas growled. ‘I’m just a little irritable when I’m hungry.’ 

However, Dean didn’t flirt with the waitress when she returned with their food, and Cas seemed somewhat mollified. 

We probably look like we’re on a date, his subconscious mused. Of course not! Dean replied. Just two blokes, having lunch together. 

Cas could be dressed for a date, Dean mused. I mean, who drives across the country looking like they’re going to a photo shoot? I’d wear an old t-shirt, not some nice shirt and jeans. A girl would definitely be blown away if Cas showed up to a date looking like this, he thought. I mean, that slightly unbuttoned shirt really does his neck muscles justice, and the way those jeans hug his ass… a girl would definitely be happy if she managed to grab someone like him. 

‘Are you single?’ Dean asked. 

Cas choked on his food for a second. ‘At the moment. Why?’ He spluttered. 

‘Thought with your looks that you’d have a girlfriend,’ he added, remembering, ‘for sure. Can’t imagine anyone walking away from that,’ he indicated Cas. 

‘You…,’ Cas began, looking astonished. ‘You think I’m attractive?’ 

‘Of course,’ Dean grinned. ‘I mean, dudes can appreciate each other aesthetically, can’t they?’

Dean was confused by the way that Cas seemed to sink into his pasta salad. 

For the rest of the drive to New York, they talked about everything. Cas was witty and observant and a brilliant voice actor – Dean couldn’t remember having ever laughed as hard as he had when Cas recounted the time he had asked his friend Charlie to stand in for a meeting with his perfume specialist, Gilda. 

‘And then I walk in,’ Cas said, fighting to keep a straight face, ‘and say, I think you’ve misinterpreted my business tactics – I talk more!’ 

Dean slapped his hand on the steering wheel, crying with laughter. Cas had let Dean drive so he could act out his story in the passenger seat. 

‘Neither of them could look me in the face for weeks!’ Castiel roared. ‘Charlie asked me how one of my meetings had gone, and I said: ‘I don’t think I’m quite as much fun in the office as you are.’ She nearly punched me!’

‘And people say I’m a bastard,’ wheezed Dean. ‘Castiel Novak!’

As they approached New York, Dean felt heartbroken. He’d had the time of his life on this drive, and he would have to face sleeping on the streets again tonight. And the worst part – he wouldn’t have Cas to talk to anymore. He wouldn’t have any way to contact him.

‘Well,’ Dean said sadly. ‘I guess I’ll be getting on my way now you’ve got home. Thanks for the ride – it was great meeting you.’ He was about to pull over and get out when – 

‘No!’ Cas said quickly. ‘I mean,’ he regained his composure, ‘if you’ve got nowhere to go, why not stay with me? There’s plenty of room, and it wouldn’t be any inconvenience.’

‘Sure,’ Dean agreed. ‘I’m very grateful for this. You really don’t have to help me so much.’ 

‘The pleasure is all mine, Dean,’ Cas replied, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is supposed to be a play on 'Chanel No. 5'... in case no-one got that...

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, if you like where this work is going and want to see more, could you give it kudos and/or comment? 
> 
> Thanks from fanficworm xx


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